First Instinct [Diablo Falls]

  First Instinct

  Tamsin Ley

  Bite Club

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Other Stories in the FIRST TIME Collection

  Also by Tamsin Ley

  About the Author

  First Instinct

  Welcome to Diablo Falls, where the world of the supernatural is out in the open, and where fangs, fur, and magic are the norm. Join the authors of Bite Club and meet those who are experiencing paranormal firsts in our growly, filthy collection of thirteen steamy “First Time” short stories.

  Because we all know… you never forget your first.

  She’ll make him purr for more...

  Darcy Mae is certain she's a witch. Her mother was one, as was her mother before her, but Darcy’s stutter botches every spell she tries. Convinced that an eloquence potion will solve her problem, she heads to Devil's Crown to gather ingredients. But a rugged park ranger with golden eyes shows up and awakens something wild inside of her. A need so strong, it scares her. And she's helpless to resist.

  Adrian's inner animal demands seclusion, a place away from humans and shifters alike. His job patrolling the mountain wilderness is all he needs to be happy—until he rescues a curvy human from a rogue shifter. Darcy smells of catnip and makes his mountain lion growl for a mate.

  He’s going to claim her—even if she is a witch.

  Content Warning: A reclusive shifter, a wanna-be witch, and a whole lot of steamy explicit purring.

  Chapter One

  Adrian crouched against the tree limb, claws digging into the bark as he surveyed the dead deer in the clearing below. He’d been waiting here in his mountain lion form for several hours now and was anxious to move on. But he had to be certain the carcass had been abandoned before he drew closer to investigate. He’d received numerous reports of dead animal findings over the last few weeks, and his supervisor at the ranger station wanted whoever—or whatever—was doing the killing to be found.

  The previous sites Adrian had visited were old before he’d reached them, the evidence around the carcass obscured by smaller predators and decay. This site seemed fresher, the stench of rot less intense, although flies swarmed over the buck’s hide and stubby, velvet covered antlers. If the killer was human, they weren’t out for trophies. And they definitely weren’t doing it for meat. Someone or something was killing for fun.

  Adrian’s tail twitched angrily, and he let out a grunt of resignation before dropping nimbly to the ground. The scent of rotting flesh grew stronger as he approached and his mountain lion instincts protested, urging him to turn around. Tightening control over his feline form, he moved closer. Flies rose in a cloud, exposing gashes writhing with fresh maggots.

  He circled the deer, estimating it had been dead slightly longer than twenty-four hours. Clawed paw prints, almost twice the size of his own, scarred the earth around the kill. He lowered his muzzle and sniffed, tail lashing. The familiar musk of a grizzly filled his nose. Shifter grizzly. He released a hiss of displeasure. The last thing the shifter community wanted was a rogue member drawing attention to Diablo Falls. Randall, Adrian’s tough-as nails werewolf supervisor, was not going to like this.

  The local bear shifters would want to take care of a rogue member themselves, and Adrian exposed his canines, his mountain lion unhappy at the thought of his territory being swarmed by bears. Bad enough they all but took over the waterfall every year for their mating orgy. He turned away, prowling through the trees toward his ranger cabin to call his supervisor.

  Just out of sight of his cabin, he shifted and retrieved the uniform he kept in a hollow tree, shrugging into his clothing before emerging into the clearing. His cabin was a small log building nestled next to one of the many rock faces jutting from the mountain, roof covered in thick moss and a small covered porch screened in from mosquitoes. One of the more popular trailheads started nearby, and a small message board fluttered with notices campers left to each other at the end of his overgrown driveway.

  Inside the two-room cabin, a few small leaded glass windows shed dusky light over the sparse furnishings. Passing the small front area with a table, a propane fridge, a wood stove, and an old sofa, he moved to the more well-appointed bedroom where a king-sized bed took up almost every inch of space. In what little down time he had, he loved lounging across the plush comforters with a book.

  He located his phone and checked its charge, moving to the corner of the front room where he got the best reception. He kept an old ham radio in the shed for when the notoriously spotty cell service didn’t work, but he couldn’t talk to Randall about shifter business over the radio. Thankfully, the phone showed two bars. He dialed the main ranger office.

  “This is HQ,” a woman’s nasal voice answered.

  “Cherry, it’s Adrian up on Devil’s Peak. I need to talk to Randall.”

  “Oh, hi, handsome!” Her voice brightened. “We haven’t heard from you in a while. How’ve you been?”

  Adrian bared his teeth and reminded himself to be polite; Cherry was human. “Doing fine.”

  He hated social niceties, which was why he’d become a ranger in the first place. He was well suited to this remote location, only venturing into town when he needed supplies. Most of his duties allowed him to patrol the trails alone, talking to the occasional hiker and reporting any problems. Several times a year he had to oversee search and rescue operations when a hiker got lost, but more often than not, he found the missing person before a full team even arrived.

  “You doing okay on handouts?” Cherry chirped back.

  He glanced toward the door where a stack of papers had gathered a layer of dust. He was supposed to pass them out to tourists, but since he avoided people, he used very few. “All good. I just need to talk to Randall.”

  “You betcha.”

  The phone clicked. A few heartbeats later, the supervisor’s voice came on the line. “Adrian, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got a lead on those abandoned kills on the mountain. A whitetail buck was taken yesterday, and there’s fresh grizzly sign all over the place. Smells like a shifter.”

  “Shit.” The sound of fingernails against stubble scratched over the phone line. “File your report then go handle this ASAP.”

  “Me? Isn’t this Den business?” Each type of supernatural had their own ruling body in Diablo Falls.

  “Not this time. The local news already picked up on the story. We need to get ahead of this before it goes viral. Take your rifle.”

  “I’m a ranger, not a SWAT team, Randall.”

  “This is your territory. I need you to handle this. There could be hikers in danger.”

  “Fuck.” Adrian grimaced. “What if he shifts before he dies?” It was one thing for a ranger to take down a dangerous bear. Quite another if a human body showed up killed by a ranger’s bullet. And in a face-to-face fight, a mountain lion couldn’t stand up to a full-grown grizzly, especially a shifter gone rogue.

  “Make your first shot count.”

  “I hate this shit.” Hanging up, Adrian pocketed his phone and grabbed his rifle before heading back outside. He’d file a report when he got back. Best to get on the trail while it was still relatively warm.

  He started up the ATV the ranger station had issued hi
m, its disused engine letting out a disgusting belch of smoke. The damn thing effectively cut off his ability to hear or smell anything, which made his mountain lion bristle in discomfort. I know, me too. But he couldn’t carry his rifle while in feline form.

  Stowing the weapon in the mounted case on the front of the ATV, he rolled out of the cabin’s clearing toward the gated trailhead.

  Chapter Two

  Darcy stopped her Subaru and eyed the overgrown path. That guy at the gas station had given her directions to a trailhead parking lot, but it looked like if she drove any farther, she might end up “parked” more permanently. Her all-wheel drive had managed the old, rutted road, but the path was getting narrower, with branches rubbing her door panels. Did I take a wrong turn?

  She glanced in her rearview mirror. There had been a space wide enough to turn around a short way back. Putting the car in reverse, she carefully maneuvered through the brush, backing into a flat area that looked like it would make a nice campsite.

  The overcast sky filtered dimly through the thick canopy of trees, and she hadn’t seen a soul since turning into what had started out as a fairly decent dirt road. She rolled down her window and breathed in the verdant forest air. This looks like as good a place to start as any.

  Her interview with the coven was the day after tomorrow, and she’d come in search of herbs to make an eloquence potion. This would be her last-ditch effort to overcome the stutter that ruined every spell she tried to cast. Poor Aunt Willow still had a patch of white hair behind one ear from one of her attempts. Darcy’d tried to buy an eloquence potion from the local apothecary shop, but it turned out it only worked for the person who made it, and the effects would not be permanent. But she didn’t need to be good at incantations, only steady enough to pass the coven’s apprenticeship test.

  Cutting the engine, she reached over to the passenger seat to retrieve her copy of Wild Edible and Medicinal Plants of the Pacific Northwest. She was more familiar with gardens than wilderness, but Aunt Willow had sent her to summer camp every year of her childhood, and the forest didn’t daunt her.

  Tapping her phone, she opened her GPS app and pinned her current location so she could find her way back, then tucked it and the book into a reusable grocery bag alongside a small trowel, a pair of purple and yellow gardening gloves, and a compact rain poncho. She looked around as she stepped out of the car, taking in a circle of stones around an overgrown fire pit. The mossy stumps around it obviously hadn’t been disturbed in quite a while, and knee-high saplings and brush filled the clearing.

  Locking the car even though she doubted she needed to, she headed toward what looked like a trail on the uphill side of the clearing. According to her book, wild ginseng grew at the base of rocky slopes.

  She set off between the trees, scanning the surrounding plants for signs of prickly wild ginseng stalks. A thick layer of dry leaves and twigs crunched under her feet, birds sang overhead, and in the distance a woodpecker tatted out a rhythm. She let out a contented sigh, running her fingertips over the flaking white trunk of a birch tree as she passed.

  A scraggly thicket of blackberries crowded the trail, and she paused to sample a few, letting the sweet juice coat her tongue. A mosquito buzzed her ear, and she reached into her bag for her homemade insect repellant. She’d spent way too much money on essential oils lately, but the minty-citrus concoction not only worked, it smelled good. After dousing herself, she tucked the small spray bottle away and continued on.

  The path grew steeper, her calves burning as she climbed until she reached a sharp turn. To her right, the trail paralleled the top of a rocky ridge, but about fifteen feet below, she spotted a stand of toothy leaves. Ginseng? She stepped toward the edge to get a better look.

  The ground beneath her feet collapsed. Too startled to even scream, she bumped and slithered helplessly down the incline on her backside. She came to rest in a rain of pebbles and dust.

  More stunned than hurt, she sat up and pushed her strawberry blonde hair out of her face before struggling to her feet. Other than a few scrapes and a racing heartbeat, she wasn’t hurt, thank the Goddess. Next to her loomed several stalks of wild ginseng, wicked yellow spines as sharp as claws. At least I didn’t land on that. The pictures in her book did not do the plant justice. Amidst the dust, her minty-citrus scented insect repellant had become cloying. She pulled the crushed bottle from her bag and wrinkled her nose. Everything inside was covered with oily residue. She wiped her phone and the book on the leg of her jeans. At least she’d be insect-free for a while.

  Along the cliff face behind her, a scoured swath of dirt and stone showed her path down the steep incline. It was a wonder she wasn’t seriously injured. She peered both directions along the wall. Not one spot looked possible to climb.

  “Fuck,” she muttered. Her stutter never affected her curse words.

  She turned back to the ginseng. Might as well make the most of the situation before I try to climb back up. She pulled out her book to make sure the photos matched, then put on her gardening gloves and shoved a prickly stalk aside to get at the root. Spines jabbed into her palm through the fabric.

  “Ow!” She flinched, letting the foliage spring back into position. No wonder these plants were also called devil’s club. These mamby-pamby gardening gloves were useless. Still, she was determined to get enough roots for her potion.

  With the flat of her trowel’s blade, she thrust a couple of stalks aside and stood on the ends to keep them out of the way, jabbing the pointed end into the rocky earth. The tool clinked uselessly against the hard-packed dirt. She tried several different angles, but the ground refused to give up its hold on the plant. She stood upright and glared toward the overcast sky in frustration.

  As if the heavens were laughing at her, a fat raindrop hit her square on the forehead.

  She wiped at the moisture with the back of one wrist, releasing the stalk she’d been standing on before trying several other plants. All she succeeded in doing was getting several more thorn-pricks and breaking a few stems at ground level. How could this be so hard? She was going to have to come back with a full-sized shovel and try again. At least she knew where the ginseng was now.

  Stuffing her trowel and gloves back into her bag, she pulled out her phone to mark the spot on her app.

  No reception.

  She held the phone overhead and paced a few feet in either direction, waiting for a signal. The app refused to come up. Maybe the rock wall was blocking her. God, what a day.

  Well, as long as she didn’t stray from the wall, she wouldn’t end up walking in circles. Eventually, she’d get reception again. Or at least find a relatively easy spot to climb and get back to the trail.

  Phone in hand, she began walking along the base of the cliff.

  Chapter Three

  Adrian stopped his ATV next to a blue Subaru Forester and cut the engine. What was a car doing so far off the road? He dismounted and circled the vehicle. Judging by the tire tracks, it’d only been here a few hours. A single set of footprints—a woman’s, he’d guess by the size—headed straight toward a game trail that led to the kill site. He’d need to hurry if he wanted to catch her before she reached it.

  He shouldered his rifle and started off, yearning for the ease of his mountain lion form. Where the trail veered to follow a ridge, a swath of fresh dirt marred the edge. Cautious of an undercut, he edged closer and peered over the drop-off. That landslide was definitely not the product of a controlled descent, but he didn’t see a body. He called out, “Hello, anyone down there?”

  Only wind rustling the leaves responded.

  Sniffing the breeze, he tried to detect if the woman was still nearby. A delicious odor wafted toward him, masking all other scents and making his inner feline wriggle. Catnip? How strange.

  Since the footprints ended here, he was going to have to investigate. He clambered down using his hands and feet. Descending as a mountain lion would’ve been easier, but approaching a frightened hiker as a p
redator was never a good idea.

  At the bottom, the strong essence of catnip made his feline instincts surge against his self-control. Reigning in his desire to shed his clothing and roll around on his back, he found the scuff marks of the woman’s shoes and followed her trail.

  Loose sand and random boulders made walking difficult, but the trail of catnip led him on even when the footprints weren’t clear. At a large tree, several limbs had been freshly broken, as if the woman had tried to climb up.

  The scent of catnip was stronger here, as well as the delicious scent of female. Floral with a hint of sweet black tea, it reminded him of his early days with his mother, before his mountain lion had emerged, before the pack rejected him. A mountain lion didn’t belong among wolves. He was what was called a “sport,” an offspring with unexpected traits inherited from a long-ago ancestor.

  The female scent in the area made his cock swell until it pressed uncomfortably against his fly. Mate, his mountain lion purred. Adrian’s balls agreed, but his head knew better. The catnip had to be messing with his senses. While he appreciated human females, he’d never met one who made him want to claim her, no matter how much he longed for a mate. He would not take just any female, and he had no hope of finding a true mate. A mate born just for him.

  But the heady scent was powerful, driving him forward even more than his duty to protect a hiker.

  Ahead, another tree had been damaged, four deep gouges staining the papery white trunk with lines of sap. Claws. This was a fresh bear marking. Adrian sniffed the air, senses muddied by warm female and dizzying catnip. The bruin shifter had been here. Had made this mark. But something was off about the scent, a cloying, almost death-like odor that made bile rise in Adrian’s throat.